Inheritance
by Rosethorn
Summary: Another in the Sarie Tam series, follows Kittens, Illusions and Insight. Mal babysits.


Mal could see both Sarie's parents in her. Her mother's soft, cheerful smile and happy-go-lucky manner, her father's lean, narrow face and dark eyes. She had something of everyone on the crew, really. River's grace and Jayne's simple approach to life, Wash's sense of humor, Zoë's common sense, Inara's confidence. There is, he thinks, even a bit of Book's endless faith in her, and she has never known him.

There is, Mal hopes, nothing of himself in the little girl. What has he to offer her, after all? His cynicism, his violence, his criminality. He is reminded somewhat forcefully why he never wanted to be a father.

Simon does a good job of it, he thinks. Sarie adores her father, following him as often as he can, and Simon returns her love. There have been times when Mal has passed by the infirmary to see Simon bandaging a scrape with tender, professional hands, wiping away childish tears and telling a story in a quiet, warm voice. There have been times during fevers and colds, as Sarie lies asleep in the infirmary, when Mal has seen Simon staring at his daughter with wonder in his eyes.

He always knew Kaylee would make a good mother, ever since he saw her with children. And she is, there is no doubt of that. Warm, loving, compassionate, a comfortable lap, a good voice for lullabies. It is Simon who surprised him. It is Simon who Mal always considered to be more like himself, childless and loveless.

Just then there is a whimper, so quiet that if he had not been used to every groan and rasp of his ship he would not have heard it. But he does, and he moves over to the door. Sarie is curled up on the other side of the door, a single tear running down her cheek.

"Oh, hey, what's the matter, _mei-mei_?" Mal kneels next to her and wipes the tear away. "Come on, don't cry." He has always been helpless before crying women, and the smaller they are, the more helpless he gets.

"I don't feel good," Sarie whispers. "My tummy hurts."

Oh, _gao yang zhong de guyang_.

Simon is gone, away with Kaylee, on leave. So are Wash and Zoë. Jayne is here somewhere, but he is very very bad with children, unless it involves playing the monster in some game of Sarie's own imagining. Of course, Mal is very very bad with children as well, and he has absolutely no idea what to do.

"Um," he says, intelligently, and almost bolts for the bridge again, to send a wave to her parents. He only holds back because Kaylee promised him in a low voice that she would personally take a rusty knife to his gullet if he canceled or cut off their leave for any reason below Reavers coming in or Sarie seriously injuring herself. No matter how frightened he is or bad with children, he doubts a hurting tummy falls under that heading. While Simon might think that it is, Kaylee is the one who made the threat, and Kaylee is the one who will carry it out. And he has no doubt that she will.

"Um," he says, again, and digs frantically for memories of Simon, of Kaylee, memories of his own mother dealing with this situation. "Okay, _mei-mei,_ where does it hurt?"

Sarie sniffs and points. It means nothing to him, but a long-buried memory comes to life.

"Aw, that ain't nothing." He strokes Sarie's hair, tentatively. "Just a bit of hurt. I know what'll make it go away."

She looks up at him, and sniffs again. Another tear falls from her eyes, and she scrubs it away with the heel of her hand. "What?"

Mal leans very close, as if imparting a great secret. "Some hot chocolate."

She brightens immediately, and places her hand in his. Mal takes her to the kitchen, makes her the chocolate, tells her a story and cuddles her as she falls asleep, her thumb in her mouth. He sits there, half-frozen, feeling unworthy of such a gift of trust. He doesn't deserve this. He's nearly killed both her parents, unintentionally in her mother's case, but with most definite intentions in her father's. He doesn't deserve this.

Mal tries to stand up, tries to pick her up and lay her in her bed. But Sarie stirs and clutches hard with her free hand. He tries to disentangle her hand, and she pops her thumb from her mouth, grabs his shirt with that hand and covers a spot above his collarbone with damp imperiousness. Stubborn. She could have gotten that from anyone in the crew, particularly her father.

A faint smile crosses his face. Guess he has one good quality to pass on after all.

When Zoë and Wash return early the next morning, sneaking in like giggling teenagers, boots in hand, they find Mal, asleep on one of the hard chairs, and Sarie in his lap, still clutching his shirt.


End file.
